When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles #4)

When Twilight Burns (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles #4) Page 49

“And as such it is my duty to protect.” They bumped the chair. A leather restraint fell to the floor with a soft whump as those words echoed in her mind.

Duty to protect.

Indeed . . . a duty to protect even when it wasn’t easy. When the choice wasn’t simple. In fact, when the choice was impossible. That was what mattered.

Could she do it? Could she be selfless in protecting the mortals she was charged to save? Even one for whom she might be bound by hatred and loathing?

It had been easy . . . so easy . . . to offer herself for Max and Kritanu. She’d seen the flash of expression on Max’s face when Sara produced the gun: sick with fear. He’d known his fate then. Not fear that he would die, but knowledge that Lilith would have him once again. And this time, without the strength and power of his vis bulla to help him fight her thrall.

Victoria knew that Kritanu would not last. Lilith had no use for him, and the blood would be too much for the vampires to resist. When Kritanu was dead, would Max use the silver ring to join him? She had to get there before he did.

Sebastian seemed to read her thoughts. “Victoria, Kritanu is as good as dead. And so is Pesaro. He’ll make certain of it himself.”

“Where is the ring?”

He sighed, tightening his arms, and then released her. His damaged hand smoothed along her cheek as he tried to smile. But it faltered. His fingers trembled. “I knew better than to hope you’d listen to me. This is who you are. This is who you’ve become: changed from the selfish, superficial Society girl, poorly disguised in man’s clothes and playing at a double life . . . to this. And . . . I love who you are, Victoria. I’ve never met a more fascinating, intelligent woman.”

A wave of guilt and affection overwhelmed her, and at that moment she drew in her breath to speak. But he shook his head sharply, the same way Max would have. “Don’t. Let’s get the ring. And hope that Brim and Michalas arrive soon.” He released her and stepped back, that charming smile unsteady on his lips. “But perhaps we should think of a plan first.”

Relieved that she could concentrate on the rescue, Victoria returned his smile with a grim one. “I already have.”

Twenty-five

The Vampire Queen Receives Her Guest

When Victoria and Sebastian left the Brodebaugh home, there was an additional surprise, and something that gave Victoria an even greater sense of urgency. They found Kritanu in a heap on the front stoop. He’d been left there for some reason—a happenstance that was both relieving and terrifying. She couldn’t imagine why or how, and assumed that Max’s cleverness had somehow achieved it.

Thus they would be able to save Kritanu’s life; but that left Max on his own, with no one to protect. No one to stay alive to protect.

He knew she was coming. She’d told him. But, would he wait? Could he, in that hell?

Should she expect him to?

Do you never do anything for yourself?

This might be the one time he did.

She wouldn’t be able to blame him.

During the retrieval of the copper ring from the rooms Sebastian had rented, and the trip back to Victoria’s town house, Sebastian tried to argue with her. He wanted to approachLilith in her stead, or at least, with her. But Victoria was adamant.

“You and Brim and Michalas—if they’ve arrived at last—will come in through the secret passageway, which, God willing, they’ve not yet discovered. If you have to fight your way in, at least they won’t be expecting three Venators.”

When they reached the town house, they were relieved to find Brim, the mountainous, coffee-colored man with barely a brush of wiry hair and a vis bulla in his eyebrow. Michalas, the lithe, whip-slender Venator with tight, burnished curls, had also arrived. They, in fact, had been making ready under Wayren’s direction to travel to the Brodebaugh residence and provide their assistance.

Victoria couldn’t have been happier to see them. Her confidence surged as she told them her plan.

“I need not tell you to take care,” said Sebastian, a short while later, as the hackney left Victoria off near the entrance to the sewers. His face looked marginally better, for he’d washed away the blood and sweat, and had changed clothes. However, nothing could hide the mottling purple and red on his skin, and the strain in his eyes. The last knuckle of his maimed finger was bound and poulticed, thanks to Wayren. “And I need not tell you why it is important that you return.”

Brim and Michalas nodded. But they said nothing.

Indeed, there was nothing left to be said.

Victoria slogged through the sludgy underground canal as she and Sebastian had done weeks earlier.

The back of her neck was cold. Red—and some pink— eyes burned, glowing in the darkness of the sewer tunnels, but none made a move toward her. They blinked, and there was impatient rustling in the shadows, but Victoria ignored it. Lilith was too smart—and complacent—to rush things.

When she came to the dead end of the sewer, where the rush of water fell down into darkness below, she easily found the narrow walkway that led up and along the side of the tunnel to the underground abbey. To her uneasy surprise, she realized she didn’t need a light. Her eyesight in the darkness continued to improve: a morbid reminder of her tenuous hold on mortality.

Once at the top of the ramplike walkway, Victoria slipped through the narrow crevice. She slunk across the small space, then faced the first door, which led to the antechamber that had been empty during her first visit, and where she’d fought with the vampires while Sebastian hid the secret door. To her surprise, the door that had been bolted when she and Sebastian came was unlocked and easily swung open. But that made sense . . . for Lilith was expecting her.

This chamber was still empty but for a pile of rags in one corner and a broken wooden chair. The back of her neck was frigid and her heart slammed in her chest. She walked across the room and pushed open the heavy door to the throne room.

At first, it seemed as though her entrance had gone unnoticed. There were few occupants in the space—a small cluster of vampires sitting in chairs. Sara, standing nearby like a lady in waiting. Lilith, who sat in her large stone throne with her long, slender fingers curled over the arms, was talking to Sara.

And Max. Thank God, Max.

He sat next to the vampire queen on a low stone stool. His shirt was missing, his feet were bare, but he still wore the same trousers he’d donned this morning. Unbelievably, his skin was unmarked, though she saw a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. The silver vis bulla glinted uselessly in the midst of the dark hair on his muscled torso.

Victoria looked at him, willing him to notice her. To see that she’d come, and would get them out of there, or die in the process.

But then Lilith looked directly at her with red-blue eyes, and Victoria had to blink away in surprise before the thrall trapped her.

“Nearly two hours, Venator. We’d begun to think you weren’t going to come.” Lilith smiled and reached over with a slender white hand to touch Max. He didn’t move. Languidly, she laced her fingers through the thick dark hair that fell in straggling waves around his face. He still hadn’t looked at Victoria, and that made her uneasy. Very uneasy.

He didn’t appear to be restrained; his capable hands rested on his knees. Her palms became sweaty.

“I’ve brought the Ring of Jubai for you. I want Max.”

At that moment, he shifted, as if it were a casual move, as if he hardly noticed her presence. Or cared about it. He looked straight at her, and she was struck by the look in his eyes: fury, frustration. He was angry that she’d come.

She could almost guess his thoughts: Bloody hell, Victoria. It would all be over by now if you weren’t so damned bullheaded and let me die in peace.

But he didn’t understand. She would never leave him to this, or to die. She wouldn’t let him go.

Lilith smiled, her fangs fully extended. “I thought that might be the case. I see that you’ve given him back his vis bulla. But,” she added thoughtfully, “first we must see how you are faring, Victoria Gardella.”

She had been prepared for it, had known it was inevitable. But when Lilith grasped Max’s head and tipped it to the side, bending to the tendon at the junction of shoulder and neck, Victoria felt the slam of her heart vibrating crazily through her, suddenly taking over. As though it struggled to be released, to control her.

This was the same scene she’d witnessed before, the same scene that still haunted her, which, she knew, was only the edge of what he’d suffered: brilliant coppery hair spilling over his bare torso, next to his dark head, the grimace of pain mingled with shameful pleasure that flushed his face, parted his lips in a silent groan.

And the sounds: the soft gulps, the faint whistle of suction. The palpable alertness of the other undead in the room.

Victoria had expected it, steeled herself for it . . . but the blood. The smell of it.

Max’s blood.

Her vision went hazy and pink, and she swallowed back the saliva that surged in her mouth.

Lilith looked up at that moment, daintily wiping a drop of crimson from the corner of her mouth. “I see,” she said. Laughter and delight tinged her voice. “You’re further gone than I’d imagined.”

Victoria couldn’t look at Max; she could barely breathe. Oh God, help me. Her fingers trembled, the stake lay untouched in her pocket.

Lilith swiped a finger over the marks on Max’s skin, bringing away a fingertip tipped with red. Victoria could see it glistening from where she stood, and swallowed again. “Come, taste,” said the vampire queen.

Victoria’s stomach rebelled, lurching sharply . . . yet she couldn’t draw her eyes away from the crimson trickling from Max’s shoulder. Her heart beat strong vibrations to her fingers.

And then Lilith’s laugh, echoed by Sara, trilled over the back of her mind, and she used its horrible sound to pull out of the depths . . . of wherever she’d been. Her heart still pounded, her fingers trembled . . . but the tug had loosened enough for her to regain control. For the moment.

“I’m here to negotiate,” she said, aware that her voice was perhaps not as strong as it could be. “Do you want the Ring of Jubai? Or shall I leave?” She swallowed, and the saliva did not return in the same salacious manner as before. The red in her vision eased to the edges, lingering, but no longer burning.